“Oh, I don’t drink coffee,” I teased.
Ryan leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Then perhaps you’d like to come in so that I can kiss all over your body and then make love to you.”
Yes. I would definitely like to come in for that.
He placed his hand over my heart, feeling the rapid, uneven beating. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
The last time Ryan saw me topless, I wasn’t timid about it. I remember straddling his hips and giving him a good view of my breasts, knowing he liked them, knowing I was in control. But now I was suddenly shy, and I crawled into his sheets, pulling up the comforter to hide my half-naked body from him. He had stripped me down to my bra and panties during an intense kissing session. Afterwards he asked me what I wanted him to do to me. I blushed fiercely and made for the covers.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” Ryan said, crawling in beside me. “Why so shy?”
I shook my head and grinned. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I like you this way,” he said, kissing my cheek.
I feared it would come out sounding corny, but I took the chance. “I just feel like this is really special, you know? What we’re about to do. I just want to do it right.”
“What do you mean by ‘do it right’?” he asked.
I turned my face away. “I just want to be good for you.” My cheeks were burning, and then the burning moved down my arms and legs. Suddenly I didn’t need the warmth of the sheets anymore.
Ryan turned my face to his. “Brooke, you will be good for me. Better than I deserve. Do you understand? I’m not expecting us to make love like experts. We’re eighteen. How about you just relax and let me do all the work.”
“But that’s not fair,” I argued.
“Who said anything about fair?” he asked, and kissed me before I could object.
Ryan didn’t do all the work, however. He did for awhile, cradling me gently underneath him while he stroked me softly, then more urgently when he told me he needed to feel all of me. I wasn’t sure I understood what that meant until he reached under me, lifted my hips, and drove deeper, eliciting screams that he promptly stifled with his mouth.
He rolled us over and forced me to straddle him, holding my hips and helping me move to a slow, almost tortuous rhythm. I felt utterly exposed, and he stared at me unabashedly, making my nipples harden without him touching them.
“I love your body,” he breathed, increasing my speed.
I couldn’t sit up any longer, and leaned into him, but he shook his head and smiled.
“Sit up, Brooklyn,” he said.
“I can’t.” It was exquisite torture now, my legs shaking from the work.
“Yes you can,” Ryan said, and gathered my wrists behind my back, holding them there with one hand while his other rested, fingers splayed, on my stomach.
He tickled my skin, and I squirmed, but he kept his hold on my wrists. The hand on my stomach inched lower, lower until his thumb found my trigger, and I cried out for him to stop.
“Do you really want me to stop?” he asked, rubbing me slowly and gently.
I answered with a moan.
“Do you want me to stop, Brooklyn?” he asked again, and I shook my head violently. He smiled, satisfied. “I want you to ride me, Brooklyn. Nice and slow.”
I think if he told me to jump off a bridge or rock climb with no safety ropes, I would. I moved my hips, feeling him swell inside me while he stroked me with his thumb. How did he do that so perfectly? Usually I was the only one who could touch that intimate spot exactly right to send myself over the edge. But he understood my body, bringing me to the heights of ecstasy every time he touched me there. It was skill. That was certain. But I thought that perhaps he and I had a deeper kind of connection, like he always knew my body before we even met.
My legs were beginning to scream in protest, and it was a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. I couldn’t hide my face from him when I came. He kept my wrists trapped, and I struggled vainly, wanting so much to cover my face with my hands. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, and he was kind enough to let go of my wrists towards the end so that I could collapse on him and bury my face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, murmured things in my ear I couldn’t comprehend, and then moved his hips.
I tensed immediately, then tried to break free of his hold.
“No Brooklyn,” he whispered, and held me tighter. There was no use trying to struggle. He was too strong, and I had to accept what was about to happen. I was spent in every way, but he made me work a little longer.
“I’ll die,” I cried in his shoulder.
“Look at me,” he demanded gently, and I lifted my face to his. “You won’t die. I promise,” and he kissed me while he moved his hips against me, finding a rhythm that I knew would send him over the edge and me to my grave.